


Elementary my Dear Harry

by DayDreamer315



Series: Plot Bunnies [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDreamer315/pseuds/DayDreamer315
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson investigate a murder in Little Whinging and stumble upon a very odd young child.
Series: Plot Bunnies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532360
Comments: 70
Kudos: 715





	1. Meeting a Murderer

**Author's Note:**

> I have adjusted the Harry Potter time frame to match the more modern Sherlock Holmes because of the technology.

James Moriarty silently walked through the boring little town that was Little Whinging. Honestly, people said he was insane, but anyone that would willingly live in a place like this was crazy on a level even he couldn’t comprehend.

He had joined a bridge club in the area a few weeks ago in the hopes of distracting him. Lately he had been so bored he was considering doing something even he hadn’t thought himself capable of in his games with Sherlock. He had thought of using a child in their games to up the anti. James may be a psychotic murderer, but even he had limits. He hadn’t killed a kid since he had been one, and even then the boy had been older than him.

The reason he was walking was because his new driver had been late. Now he was going to need to get another new driver as this one was going to be dead shortly. He had already called Sebastian to retrieve his driver as well as come and pick him up.

Just as he was thinking of all the fun and creative ways he could kill his driver he caught sight of something that was odd, even to him.

An extremely small child had just looked both ways before crossing the street towards the park. It was only March, it was still cold at night and the boy was only wearing a baggy shirt and shorts, he didn’t even have any shoes on.

Being who he was he could never leave questions unanswered so he followed the small boy. He could tell the boy had noticed his presence as he slowed down and headed towards a bench where he jumped up and took a seat.

“Hello kitten.” Moriarty said as he sat down on the bench next to him. He didn’t have much, or any, experience with young children so he wasn't even sure if the boy was old enough to talk.

“Why are you following me?”

Moriarty gave the boy an interested look. He appeared to only be a toddler but he spoke with perfect diction in full sentences, Moriarty might not know about kids, but he knew enough to know that wasn't normal.

“I was wondering about why you were out so late, but I think I can guess.” Up close the evidence was clear. There was clear bruising on the boys arms and throat. The way he sat it was obvious his back was injured in some way, Moriarty assumed whip marks from a belt. His eyes were also slightly out of focus and he seemed to have a headache indicating a concussion. “What’s your name kitten?

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia call me freak or boy. Ms. Figg calls me Harry.” The boy now identified as Harry told him.

Looking closer at those unfocused eyes Moriarty saw it. He had only met one person with eyes so green. In another life, when he was only 8 years old, the child Moriarty had once been had gone to visit his elder cousin, Severus Snape.

Lily Evans had been the first person other then Severus he had met who’s intelligence had even come close to rivalling his own, and Severus hadn’t counted to his mind since he was family. She hadn’t quite been on his level, but she had been close. At the end of the weekend he had gone home with a healthy respect for the girl, and a broken nose.

Reaching out, hesitating for a moment when he saw the way the boy flinched back, he moved the childs hair off his forehead. As he had expected a lightning bolt shaped scar was hidden by the dark locks, it still looked like it hadn’t fully healed even though he knew it had been over 2 years.

“You know something.” Harry stated bluntly. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“How can you tell?” Moriarty asked.

“It’s obvious. You were already sure I would have a scar even as you reached to check. You also seemed to recognize something familiar in my eyes when you look at me.” Harry told the man.

Moriarty smiled, it would seem the young boy had inherited his mums intelligence. “Yes, I know who you are. I met your mother once when we were children, she was one of the few people I have ever had any form of respect for. You have her eyes.”

“And the scar?” Harry cocked his head. “Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say I got it from the car accident that killed them, but I know they are lying. Something is wrong with how they treat me. As much as they hate me… They fear me more for some reason. I think it has something to do with the odd things that happen around me.”

“Noticed that have you.” Moriarty gave a devious smile.

“Last week Aunt Petunia gave me a haircut. I was almost bald by the end, except for my bangs to cover the scar. But my hair had grown back by morning.” Harry told him.

Moriarty went on to explain to the young child about magic. During his explanation his second in command Sebastian Moran arrived with his car. Rather than going home Moriarty got them a room at a local motel and had ordered them some food.

When the tale was done and Harry was picking at his first ever piece of pizza he still wasn't satisfied. “But that still doesn’t explain your recognition of my scar.”

And that resulted in even more explaining. By the end of that Harry was laying in an actual bed. It had taken Moriarty a bit of work to convince him it was ok for him to be on the furniture but once he understood he wouldn’t be punished for it Harry had relaxed.

“Kitten, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I have to be at the back door by dawn to be let back inside. I have to make breakfast for everyone and pack a lunch for Uncle Vernon. It’s a Thursday so Aunt Petunia will be taking Dudley to a local play group and won’t be back until 3 so I don’t have to make them lunch. I will be locked in my cupboard until it’s time for me to make dinner.” Harry told him matter of factly.

“I will be at your place for lunch and we can make some plans for what is to come.” Moriarty said thoughtfully. “You will not be staying with those people for much longer, but it will take time for me to get you away.”

Moriarty was sure that there would be all kinds of magic to keep the boy stuck in the area or would alert someone if he was away for an extended period of time. He was going to have to work around it.

As he lay down to sleep Moriarty was pleased with the turn of events, he wasn't bored anymore.


	2. Sadists, Psychopaths, and Sociopaths Oh My

It took 2 months and 5 days for Moriarty to get everything in place after he had met Harry Potter. There was just so much that needed to be done.

He had contacted the goblins and arranged for them to secretly check the wards, like he had expected there was proximity wards that would alert if the boy was away from the house for more than a week. He had paid to have the wards altered slightly, since they were based on Lily Evans’s blood it was easy enough to have them transferred to Petunia Dursley since she was Lily’s sister and they shared the same blood, he had also expanded the tether so if she was anywhere within 1000km they would consider her as being there.

He had also needed to get Harry used to having proper accommodations. Harry had spent the last two years in a small cupboard and being treated like a misbehaving animal, it would take time for him to get used to a change in situation.

There was a vacant building a block away from the Dursley’s house that he had purchased to help with that. In one of the rooms he had a proper bedroom for Harry set up that had everything a young boy might need or want, including plenty of books. Since Harry had spent so much time in a confined space he knew the young boy would feel exposed and vulnerable in a large room with plenty of open space, to deal with that the room he had had made for Harry was a small office that was only about 3 times the size of his cupboard. He planned on moving Harry into a proper sized room but had decided to work him up to larger spaces.

Moriarty had also ensured there was a fridge and small stove in the building so Harry could make his own food and eat properly, given that he cooked for his relatives Moriarty knew he was capable of it. One of his workers delivered a healthy variety of food every three days while Harry was at his relatives house. He was hopeful that it would help him to start to recover from the malnutrition that had resulted in him being as small as he was even for only being 3. Nutrition would also help with his brain development Moriarty knew, despite the boys intelligence he could still be smarter.

Once he had everything in place he got in contact with an associate and they returned to Little Whinging.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had been having a weird couple months. It had started in March. One of his arch-enemies, Moriarty, had been arranging dangerous situations in some sort of twisted game. He had been working on determining what the consulting criminal was going to do next when the man had suddenly gone completely silent and disappeared.

Then, three weeks later, he and his partner and flatmate John Watson had arrived home to find their flat cleaned. All of his experiments had been moved to the empty apartment downstairs. Their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, told them the apartment had been rented just that day by a man called Basil Captain and had been paid for for the next 7 years in advance. This had interested Sherlock as ‘Captain Basil’ was an alias he had used while working a case involving spies during the very first investigation he consulted on as an adult.

It was a few weeks after that that they had come home once again to find things changed. Somehow a brand new staircase had been added against the side wall in their sitting room. When they went up they found themselves in what had up until then served as their attic and storage space. Now it was a childs bedroom.

The floor was covered in a plush chocolate brown rug. The walls were painted like a forest leading up to the ceiling that was covered in a night sky. A bed, clearly for a young child, rested against the back wall. A small writing desk sat under the window facing the street. And book cases and childrens toys were scattered around the room.

It had been John who had noticed the disparity in the room. He had then had to spend an hour trying to explain it to Sherlock. The bed was sized for a small child, most likely 2-3 year range, while the toys were more age appropriate for 5-10 years, and the books were for teenagers if not adults. It took Sherlock a while to understand that wasn't normal for a child.

Only the day before they had come home to find the apartment fully stalked with healthy food. Even Mrs. Hudsons place had food.

After the first strange events Sherlock had covered the apartment in cameras trying to catch Moriarty in the act but they had caught nothing. It was like every single one had been turned off at the same second. Sherlock had even contacted his brother Mycroft, via John’s phone of course, to see if he was involved or knew what was happening. He hadn't, although he had arrived to investigate much to Sherlock’s annoyance as he had then found over a dozen bugs after he left. Sherlock had even contacted Inspector Greg Lestrade to see if he had any idea, not that he would admit it had been him asking since he had made John make the call and had stayed hidden in his room playing his violin when the Inspector had arrived.

And that day, May 22nd, Sherlock had received a call from Inspector Lestrade. There had been a rather violent murder in the small town of Little Whinging, Surry. That was outside of the Inspectors area but he had been the one to find the scene. That morning he had arrived at his desk to find a box with a key to a front door with an address card underneath it. Both key and card had been stained with blood. Knowing about Moriarty and the sick games he liked to play Greg had immediately gone to investigate.

He had found the body of a woman. Sitting on the front step he had found a pink suitcase, a doctors stethoscope, and a deerstalker hat. The message was clear, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were to be called.

Greg had called Sherlock and locked down the crime scene, calling in his own team to come. He knew just how finicky, read insane, Sherlock could be about crime scene staff. There was no reason to subject the local cops to the man. Greg also didn’t trust them to be able to handle something like this and didn’t want them messing up his crime scene.

* * *

“Well?” Inspector Lestrade asked Sherlock.

The consultant and Doctor had arrived half an hour before. Sherlock had wandered the house, poking in to odd places and looking under couches, now he stood looking down at the body with what could only be described as a disgusted look on his face as he flipped through a journal.

“Anderson, what idiocy have you deduced?” Sherlock looked to the forensic analyst that he enjoyed annoying.

Anderson snarled but kept his opinion to himself at the look from the inspector. “Deceased is Arabella Figg. Age 58. Widowed 16 years ago, lived here alone. She bred odd cats for her income. Moved into the house 2 years ago.

Cause of death was massive blood loss. Her left leg has been completely amputated, her right shattered just below the knee. Every one of her ribs has been broken. Her left arm is dislocated and her right is broken in three places. She shews evidence of extensive head and facial trauma, this includes a broken jaw, fractured skull, and her left eye has been gouged out. She also has whip marks on her back. Whoever did this took their time.”

“John?” Sherlock looked to his flatmate.

“I concur with Andersons findings on cause of death, but there is more. There is a needle mark on her right arm. The drug vial on the end table is for an antiquated paralytic that used to be used for intubation, but it fell out of use 20 years ago. If given a large enough dose of that she would be completely paralyzed, but she would be awake and aware of everything happening. It’s why there’s no evidence that she fought back. She felt every moment of what was done to her but couldn’t respond.”

“Sick bastard.” Officer Sally Donovan muttered.

“Yes, she was.” Sherlock said, everyone looking in shock at what he said as well as the fact that he had agreed with someone he disliked as much as Anderson.

“She’s the victim here.” Sally snapped. “It was her killer that was the sadist Freak.”

“A sadist for a sadist.” Sherlock huffed before turning to one of the first pages in the journal, flipping from page to page as he read sections. “Took Mr. Tibbles to the vet today. Told the vet he got hit by a car. They worked on him for three hours before he finally died… Fritters finally lost his left eye to massive infection today… Ginger had to have her left leg amputated today… Cardamom’s right leg is broken in three places… Tigger’s jaw is broken, wonder how long he can go without food…

This woman was a sadist who tortured the cats she bred. Every single injury she sustained is recorded in here, most of them carried out by her on her cats. But you're missing the obvious.”

“And what’s that?” Lestrade asked, looking slightly sick.

Sherlock looked to John who finally noticed. “Where are the cats? Normally, cats will begin to feed on a dead body rather quickly.”

“You think this guy killed the cats too?” Sally was slightly sad, she liked cats. Any sympathy she had had for their victim had disappeared.

“He took the cat food as well.” Sherlock said. When he noticed they didn’t understand the connotations he expanded, speaking to them like they were little kids. “Cats need to eat. Suddenly changing their food is bad, you have to get them used to a new food type if you are going to change it. He took the food so he could have something to feed them. He cared about their digestive comfort.

Also, there is no evidence the cats tried to escape. There are no fresh scratch marks on walls or floors. Obviously the cats didn’t see him as a threat or tried to get away from him. This man was a sadist, but he had no intention of harming the animals.”

Greg was suddenly thoughtful. “You said all the injuries were in the book, but she didn’t do all of them to her cats.”

“Very good Inspector, you were paying attention.” Sherlock looked to the man in surprise he had caught that.

“Sherlock.” John said in a warning tone.

Sherlock huffed but looked back to the journal. “He said he burned the breakfast yesterday. His Uncle whipped him with his belt. He said he counted 6 strikes. His Uncle really needs to start exercising more to build up his stamina. After his Uncle was too tired to keep whipping him he said he threw him to the floor and started to kick him. He counted…” Sherlock closed the book with a snap, not wanting to read any more of that filth.

“Who is ‘he’?” Greg asked with a growl in his voice.

“No name is given.” Sherlock said. “But the first instance of ‘He’ being mentioned in the journal is 2 years ago when his Aunt dropped him off. It would have been around the time she moved here. Most likely ‘He’ is someone she babysits. ‘He’ is an orphan who lives with an Aunt and obese Uncle. We will find him at least one street over.”

“I’ll go ask the neighbours.” Sally said. “They’re all gathering outside trying to get the latest gossip.”

Sally was only gone a few moments before she came back. “None of them knew his name, but he lives with Vernon and Petunia Dursley of 4 Privet Drive. He has been here since his parents were killed in a car accident when he was 1. Petunia Dursley is his maternal Aunt. Petunia and Vernon also have a son of their own. His name is Dudley Dursley and he will be 4 in June. They say the nephews about the same age. From what they say the kid is some kind of delinquent or something. Any chance ‘He’ is referring to two boys Freak?”

“No. Isn’t it obvious, you would have to be a fool to miss it.” When no reply came Sherlock gave the woman a condescending smile. “They are dehumanizing him. Knowing a persons name personalizes them to you. By never giving his name it makes the child seem less… real to most people. It’s much easier to get away with systematically torturing a child if no one cares about him.

It’s also why they are spreading stories the boy is bad. He’s 3, what kind of delinquent can a 3 year old be. It serves to make the idiots that live here care about him even less. They think he’s bad so anything wrong they see they will think is his fault. Now, Anderson, you and your little girlfriend finish up here, there honestly isn’t too much more either of you can do to destroy this crime scene anyways. I’ve already learned everything I need to know anyways. I’m going to visit the Dursley’s. John, you’re coming with me, the child may need medical attention.”

Sherlock strode out of the crime scene, John and Lestrade following him.

* * *

Sherlock was the first to arrive at the Dursley residence thanks to his long legs but the others were on his heels, not wanting to risk him being alone with them. Sherlock might not be the most emotional person, but it was obvious he was upset about the childs abuse.

They managed to be allowed inside when Greg showed his badge and mentioned they were looking into the murder of Arabella Figg. Petunia, who had been the one to answer the door just wanted a chance to get as much information as possible about the crime. The woman loved to gossip and she was going to have the best information if she got it directly from the cops.

“What is it you thought we might know. We barely spoke with Mrs. Figg.” Vernon blustered, not liking that his lunch was being interrupted.

“I think your son shouldn’t be here for this, it’s not healthy for a child to hear about these sorts of things.” Greg quickly said, shooting the beachball like child a concerned look as he appeared to be eating a slice of chocolate cake covered in whipped cream and caramel for lunch.

Petunia quickly took Dudley out of the room, with his plate of cake, and left him in the living room in front of the tv, offering him a handful of candies when he started to fuss. Once her son was thoroughly distracted she returned.

“What happened? Do you know who did it? Why are you here, you aren’t from the local detachment?” Petunia wanted as much information as she could get.

Sherlock had been looking around since the moment he had arrived, he had seen everything he needed to know. Turning to the couple he gave them a penetrating stare.

“We are here because I wanted to see the despicable wastes of space that think it is acceptable to torture a child and use him as a slave.”

“Now you listen here…” Vernon blustered as his face started to go red in his anger. Petunia laid a hand on her husbands shoulder, not wanting the cops to get involved.

“No, you listen.” Sherlock glared, he had always considered himself a sociopath, but he hated anything involving the harm of a young child. “This house stinks of bleach and polish, but the walls are only cleaned up to 3 feet. Clearly it was done by a child, and it obviously wasn't the little beachball you put in the other room. There are slight scuff marks from chair legs in front of the stove and sink meaning the child does the cooking and dishes as well.

All the houses in this neighbourhood are built in a similar manner, that means this house should have 4 bedrooms. Plenty of room for a couple with 2 young children. But you don’t allow your nephew to have a proper room. There are locks on the outside of the cupboard under the stairs, indicating that something, or someone, is often locked inside. Despite having plenty of room you have put a child in there.

But the thing that is the most important at this moment is how badly he is hurt. You each have a full meal in front of you, but it’s obvious none of you cooked it, meaning your nephew did the work. But there is no forth plate, so despite him doing the cooking you didn’t allow him to eat. And just over there, in the corner there are a few drops of blood. On the edge of the counter is more blood, but also a few hairs.

What happened? Did he ask if he could have something to eat and you slammed him into the counter. Was it you you great lump, no, you don’t have the energy to heft yourself up off your fat arse to reach him quickly enough. So it was the horse faced bitch that hit him this time and then your whale of a husband threw him under the stairs.”

“How dare you speak to us like that you disgusting freak.” Petunia shrieked, but her eyes showed the fear that came from being found out.

“Get out of my house.” Vernon demanded as he started to get up.

“Sit down.” Lestrade ordered and Sherlock and Dr. Watson went to the cupboard. He unclipped the strap on his gun belt to give him easy access to his gun just to get his point across. Lestrade was one of the few officers that was licensed to carry a weapon as he dealt with murder suspects.

John was the one who opened the cupboard. As the boy was obviously injured even Sherlock knew he needed to get to him first.

“It’s empty.” John said in confusion.

Sherlock crouched down to look in and was disgusted at what he saw. A flat crib mattress was pressed into the corner with a thin tattered blanket on top. Both were covered in dried spots of blood from the years of abuse the child had suffered. Most of the rest of the cupboard was filled with cleaning supplies. And on the back walls was a few drawings on scraps of paper. One proclaimed ‘Harry’s Room’ while the other was the depiction of the back of an office building that Sherlock had seen when they walked over.

Looking at the floor Sherlock found traces of gravel and plaster dust. He assumed the boy often snuck out and went to the building. When they had walked past he had noticed that it was vacant but the fence at the side had been cut for easy access for anyone under 4 feet.

Getting up Sherlock went back to the kitchen. “Where is Harry?”

That got him confused looks from Lestrade as well as the two Dursley’s.

“The little freak is in his cupboard.” Vernon snarled. “He said Dudley shouldn’t get cake for lunch since it wasn't healthy. Like we care what a freak like him thinks.”

“He is correct.” John told them. “I’m a doctor. From what I’ve seen of your son and his eating habits he will have a massive coronary by the time he is 30 unless you start feeding him better. He is also at risk of type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, bone and joint problems, asthma, sleep apnea, liver and gallbladder disease, heart disease, depression and other mental health issues, and it’s all because of your treatment of him.”

“Dudders is just big boned.” Petunia simpered.

“No, he is morbidly obese. But right now we want Harry.” Sherlock said in an angry tone.

Both Lestrade and John were cautiously watching Sherlock. The man prided himself as a sociopath but he was acting rather… emotional… in regards to the child. John thought it might have something to do with the childs family referring to him as a ‘freak’, something Sherlock was also often called.

“Vernon told you, he is in his cupboard.” Petunia glared, not liking the turn this meeting had taken, she had just wanted gossip, not having these people in her home talking about the freak and insulting her precious Duddykins.

“Like we just said, the cupboard is empty.” John reiterated.

“That ungrateful little freak.” Vernon was suddenly on his feet, only to drop back down, chair creaking ominously, when Sherlock delivered a hit to his solar plexus. “He’s a little felon I tell you. Never does anything right and always getting into trouble. Disgusting little ingrate. He was told to stay there until it was time to cook dinner.”

Lestrade just looked at the man in disgust for a moment before turning to the consulting detective. “Do you know where he could have gone?”

“Yes.” Sherlock turned to leave. “There is gravel and plaster dust on the floor and a drawing of a vacant building on the wall. The vacant office building down the street was under construction recently but it was stopped. He most likely is there hiding from these animals.”

“I told you he was a criminal, you just said he was trespassing. You should put him in prison like the criminal he is.” Vernon glared.

Sherlock spun back to the man. “He is 3 years old. No decent person would ever lock a child of that age up. You and your wife on the other hand deserve to spend the rest of your worthless lives in prison for what you have done to an innocent child. Although we might not need to worry about you for too much longer.

You see, Arabella Figg kept a detailed list of every injury your nephew received but chose to do nothing about it. Her killer didn’t seem to like that fact and even recreated some of your nephews injuries on her, while she was still alive. Whoever it was obviously dislikes child abuse so who knows… Maybe he will take your _care_ of your nephew up with you.”

“I will be calling in to your local detachment and childs services once we have your nephew safely in the hospital. Don’t leave the area or I will have arrest warrants on you faster than you can blink.” Greg warned before he followed his two associates out the door and down the street.

* * *

They had only made it about 3 houses away before a slim woman with a rat like face jumped out in front of them. “Hello dears. I’m Karen Polkiss. I couldn’t help but notice you are just at the Dursley house. Surely they didn’t have anything to do with poor Arabella’s death.”

Sherlock gave the simpering woman a blank look. What was it with the people in this area and their love of gossip. This woman just wanted something to twitter about with her airhead neighbours Sherlock knew.

“We just needed to speak with them in regards to their nephew who Mrs. Figg babysat. She had written some concerning information about him in her journal.” The Inspector said in his police tone.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about that boy.” Karens eyes lit up. “Petunia has told the garden club all about that one. He’s headed straight for prison. I won’t let him anywhere near my little Piers.”

“Woman are you an idiot.” Sherlock snapped, completely sick of these people. He saw the womans eyes widen in shock and anger but didn’t give her time to speak. “ _Harry_ is 3 years old. This is reality, not the fantasy world you and the rest of the idiots in this area seem to live in. 3 year olds aren’t out running mafias in small towns.

She told you those lies so you wouldn’t care about him, and you fell for it hook line and sinker. She told you that so if you saw a too small child with bruises on his face and whip marks on his back you would think he deserved it, and it obviously worked. What does someone like you care if a child is being abused so long as you get invited to tea with the local gardening club and get the latest gossip.

Mrs. Figg knew about how the innocent young child suffered at the hands of his so called relatives and like you, she chose to do nothing. He wasn't her child so she didn’t care, but someone did. Whoever killed her seems to have taken her depraved indifference personally and even recreated some of Harry’s injuries on her. I do so wonder if they will be back to address your, or your neighbours, complete stupidity and lack of care for an abused child with you lot.

And before you even start blaming Harry like the morons the people in this area have proven themselves to be I will repeat, he is 3. He does not have the access to a restricted paralytic or the strength to break the bones of an adult. Now, if you will excuse us we need to find Harry. Dear Petunia apparently thought him pointing out cake was not a healthy lunch for her son was a good enough reason to slam his head against the edge of her counter before her oaf of a husband locked him in a cupboard from which he managed to escape.”

Inspector Lestrade had taken a step back at the sheer rage pouring off the normally emotionless consulting detective. Once Sherlock had carried on he looked to the woman. “In future Mrs. Polkiss, if you see a small child with bruises do what any decent human being would do, call the police. It is never acceptable to knowingly leave a child in an abusive home just because you don’t seem to like them.”

* * *

The lock on the fence was easy to pick so Sherlock had no trouble gaining entrance to the building. The stairs and elevator had been blocked off letting him know Harry was on the ground floor. Thinking of the drawing on the wall he remembered the buildings windows had all been dark except for the one three windows down from the back door on the right side.

When he reached the room from the drawing he knew he had been correct as there was a sign proclaiming ‘Harry’s Room’ much like the one that had been hung in the cupboard. Knocking lightly he opened the door only to freeze.

It was the bedroom. It was an exact replica of the room Moriarty had made in his attic only about half the size. Every detail was the same only on a smaller scale, even the books on the shelves were the same.

Both John and Greg stepped into the room and had the same reaction, they recognized this as Moriarty’s work. But John had more important matters to attend to than worrying about this childs connection to the criminal mastermind. The too small child was sitting at the small desk. He had wrapped a bandage around his head but blood was seeping through. He had also wrapped his left arm in a splint and was in the process of applying some sort of paste to the bruises on his knees.

“Hello Harry.” John said in a soft voice, not wanting to scare the young boy. “I’m Dr. John Watson. Can I check your head.”

Harry looked at him, John was slightly intimidated by how the child sized him up. “Yes.” Then Harry looked to the other two.

“Hi Harry, I am Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade of the Metropolitan Police.”

“No you're not.” Harry said instantly.

“Yes, I am.” Greg was confused by the boys reaction.

“No, you’re not. I don’t deny that that is the name you go by, but you hesitate slightly on the vowels. It is your preferred name, but it isn’t the one you were given when you were born.” Harry said as John started to unwind the bandage on his head.

“I know.” Sherlock nodded, never having accepted the man by the name he gave. “At least I’m not the only one who recognizes the lie.”

Greg stood in shock for a moment. First off no one knew he had changed his name. But more than that, Harry was only supposed to be around 3 but didn’t act like it. “Yes, I changed my name when I was young, but I have been Greg Lestrade my entire adult life.”

“I can accept that, and I know. The other man is Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world.” Harry said.

“Read about me have you?” Sherlock was pleased. “I do hope it wasn't on the silly blog of Johns.”

“I’ve read that too, but most of what I know about you came from this.” Harry kept his head perfectly still as the doctor examined the cut that was just above his hairline by his right ear. Reaching over he opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a book and held it out.

Sherlock went and took the book. Flipping through he saw many faces he knew as well as write-ups on them. There was even pages dedicated to his parents and Mycroft, Sherlock didn’t think his brother was going to like that someone had gotten his picture and written about his job, it made him chuckle slightly as he thought of his brothers annoyance when he learned of this.

But it was what was on the bottom of his write-up that brought him up short. It said adoptive father. What was Moriarty playing at, Sherlock was not parent material and he knew it. Flipping through a few more pages he found the same thing at the bottom of the pages dedicated to John.

“We’re going to need to get him to the hospital.” John announced. “He has a concussion and is going to need stitches for this head wound.”

“I’ve never needed stitches before.” Harry said thoughtfully. “I’ve always healed very quickly.”

“You most likely needed stitches but those oafs you were left with were too disgusting to take you to get them.” Sherlock grumbled, his attention to the book shifting in an odd concern for the boy.

“Harry, how did you get all of this and known our names?” Greg asked having not yet seen the book.

“Moriarty did it.” Harry looked at him as the doctor re-wrapped his head. “He told me that you would all be here today, unless you were complete idiots.”

“Harry, do you know where Moriarty is now?” Greg questioned, hoping for a lead on the criminal.

“No.” Harry shook his head slightly but stopped when it made him dizzy. “He came to visit me here last week and told me that one of his friends was going to visit with Mrs. Figg last night and that the three of you would be here today.”

“Harry, do you know what happened to Mrs. Figg?” John questioned hesitantly.

Harry looked to the first doctor he had ever met. “She’s dead.”

“You don’t seem bothered by that.” Greg was slightly unnerved by the boys reactions and intelligence. It was like dealing with a young Sherlock, or possibly Moriarty himself. Greg had to question himself about just who his father might be.

“Why would he?” Sherlock was surprised by that. “The woman was a sadist who enjoyed making him relive his abuse. She got what she deserved.”

“Hospital now, talk later.” John gave the two men a hard look.

Harry walked over to Sherlock and lifted his arms slightly. Sherlock looked down at him thoughtfully for a few moments before he complied with the silent demand and picked him up gently, making sure not to press against his back since he was sure he had been whipped within the past few days given how he was moving.

“Lestrade, call for a car we need to go.” Sherlock said.

“Can you grab my bag Dr. Watson?” Harry asked. “I packed the things I need. And tuck the book in it too.”

John slowly took the book from Sherlock’s hand and tucked it in the bag as they headed out.

“Harry, how old are you?” John questioned.

“I will be 4 at the end of July.” Harry said. “But I don’t think that is what you are wondering about. The test Moriarty gave me classed me as a genius. According to him it said my intellectual age is closer to late teens.”

“That makes a bit more sense.” John nodded in understanding.

“Harry, you do understand that Moriarty is not exactly good, correct?” Greg looked at the boy in concern.

“Yes.” Harry knew it was the truth, but he didn’t really care. “He likes to hurt people, similar to Mrs. Figg, but not the same way. She derived pleasure from suffering, he finds fun in tormenting and playing with those he sees as guilty. Every one of his victims had done something, whether it is murder or simply annoying him. But he has also helped me when no one else ever has.”

“How did you meet?” Sherlock asked as they got in the car that arrived, Sally was in the front, her eyes large and sad as she saw the child, but also surprised that he was in Sherlocks arms.

“Dudley tripped me and I dropped dinner. Uncle Vernon threw me outside for the night, Aunt Petunia said I wasn't supposed to come back until the sun was coming up to make their breakfast.” Harry said, not paying attention to the sadness or anger of those around him, for him, his treatment was simply a fact. “On nights like that I go to the park. There is a tube slide that blocks out the worst of the wind I can sleep in.

He saw me walking to the park and followed. We talked for a while and he rented a room for me in one of the motels. It was the first time I was allowed to eat pizza and sleep in a real bed. That was when he started making plans. That was 2 months and 5 days ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this is not proper police procedure. Trust me, I understand. My mother has been a cop for nearly 30 years. I learned at a very young age to never watch any kind of police procedural drama, like CSI, when she was around because it would drive her into fits as she went on about how wrong they were about nearly every detail.


	3. To the Hospital

It only took them a few minutes to arrive at the hospital where Harry was immediately rushed into an emergency treatment room. At first the on call doctor was antagonistic towards John when he started detailing his condition but once John explained that he was a former army doctor that worked as a general practitioner he became far more respectful and allowed him to assist in Harry’s diagnosis and treatment.

They decided it would be easier to sedate Harry while they worked so they didn’t hurt him as he needed not only the stitches in his head but to have the lacerations on his back cleaned and bandaged. They also wanted to get a full set of x-rays as well as do a full blood panel.

A few hours later Harry was resting peacefully in a private room while the adults talked.

“Is something wrong Greg?” John asked as he walked into the room with the file on Harry to see the man was unhappy.

“The Dursley’s did a runner.” Greg sighed as he wiped his hand down his face. “By the time officers arrived to secure them and collect their son they were gone.”

“It’s not like they’re going to get far.” Sherlock muttered from where he sat next to the bed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Greg narrowed his eyes. He hoped Sherlock wasn't planning to do anything.

“This is Moriarty we’re talking about.” Sherlock pointed out. “So far, all of this seems to be about getting Harry to us.” Sherlock pulled out the book with their pictures in it and showed what was at the bottom of both his and John’s pages. “He arranged to have Figg killed because of her behaviour towards him. If you thought what he had done to her just for knowing was bad… I have no doubt that the relatives that took part in the torture will suffer even worse.”

“You have a point.” Greg conceded. “But we are still going to look for them. And just how is Harry Dr. Watson?”

John opened the folder in his hand and started putting up ex-rays on the light board. “It isn’t good, but it also isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. The full body ex-rays we did showed that his wrist is fractured and so are 2 of his ribs. Over his life we counted 11 healed breaks. Most healed incredibly well since there are no records he has ever seen a doctor.

There is an issue with bone density that seems to have come from long term malnutrition. The malnutrition is the cause of his small size and it has also been putting strain on his organs. But his blood tests came back showing his vitamin and nutrient levels are near normal range. Best guess is that once Moriarty found him he started getting the kid proper food and started building him back up. He’s going to need to be on supplements for at least a year to help counter the effects of his early life, but he is already starting to show signs of recovery.

Right now the biggest worry is his head. He’s had over 2 dozen concussions in recent years, including the one he has currently. There is an extremely high risk of concussion syndrome with him. We’re going to need to arrange for him to get an MRI to ensure there isn’t any damage. He’s also going to need to see an ophthalmologist. Due to the head trauma and the way he kept squinting at us when we first met him there is a chance the concussions have damaged his optic nerves.

All things considered, he is in surprisingly good shape. So long as he continues with proper treatment there shouldn’t be any longterm physical issues. I can’t speak for mental or emotional issues as that isn’t my field, but I would still recommend he sees someone to help him cope. Not just with his abuse but his intelligence. Both will isolate him from others his own age.”

“I’ll make sure to let social services know once they get here.” Greg had made note of everything in his little book.

“Why?” Sherlock questioned.

“So they can get him the treatment he needs Sherlock.” John said slowly.

“You can monitor his condition yourself. He’s going to be living with us after all.” Sherlock said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Sherlock?” Greg said in a slow placating voice. “You do know you can’t just take Harry home with you, right?”

“Of course he’s coming home with us. His room is already ready.” Sherlock pulled out the picture book and started flipping through.

“Sherlock, that isn’t how it works.” John told him.

“Fine, just call Mycroft. He’ll arrange it.” Sherlock growled, not liking to have to involve his brother.

“Sherlock, we can’t just take a kid. Social services will find him a good home.” John tried again.

“That would not be a good idea.” Sherlock found what he was looking for.

John looked down at the book Sherlock was showing him. The first page he was shown had a picture of Sherlock himself. At the bottom of the entry was an asterisk that identified him as Harry’s adoptive father. Sherlock then flipped a few pages and showed him his own entry that had the same thing. He had already shown them both that before, but it seemed like they needed a reminder. He finished by flipping to the pages dedicated to Moriarty. At the end of the flowery write up about his greatness there was another asterisk. ‘Honorary godfather. Note: Should Sherlock and Watson prove incapable or unwilling fathers James Moriarty shall become Harry’s new adoptive father.’

“Either we take him, or Moriarty will. And I personally think you and I are far more capable guardians than a consulting criminal and serial killer.” Sherlock said in a tone that showed he felt offended at the idea of his parenting skills being questioned.

John and Greg shared a defeated look.

“I will call Mycroft and get him working on the paperwork.” John sighed.

“Hello John, how is Surrey?” Mycroft greeted genially after picking up after the first ring.

“It’s Surrey.” John said in a flat voice.

“I would assume so. So what is it my dear brother needs from me this time?”

“One moment, I’m putting you on speakerphone. Sherlock, tell your brother what’s happening.” Sherlock refused to look at the phone or acknowledge his brother on the other end.

“Sherlock, you must speak.” Mycroft sighed. “Phones do not work for nonverbal communication.”

“SHERLOCK!” John snapped. “Tell your brother what you are planning now or he won’t be able to help.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed, ignoring the slight chuckle from the Detective Inspector who was taking far too much joy in this. “Moriarty has decided that John and I are going to adopt an abused child. The room upstairs is for him. You need to do the paperwork so social services doesn’t try and take him.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Have you completely lost your grip.” Mycroft sounded shocked. “You can not just adopt a child, abusive home or not.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that Mycroft.” John added before Sherlock could start yelling at his brother, he didn’t want their bickering to wake Harry. “From what we’ve found either we take him in or Moriarty will.”

“Oh. Well that wouldn’t be good.” Mycroft conceded. “But Sherlock, you don’t understand normal children.”

“Well, he isn’t exactly normal.” John added in. “Moriarty conducted an intelligence test on him and he’s classified as…”

“He’s a genius.” Sherlock cut in.

“And how old is he. Genius is far too over utilized these days. It is degrading the true meaning of the word.” Mycroft said in despair.

“He will be 4 in July.” Greg added.

“And hello to you too Detective Inspector.” Mycroft greeted. “Well, if he’s that young he may actually have the potential to be a true genius. And just what is so funny?”

Sherlock had shown John the pages in the book dedicated to Mycroft himself and John had snorted trying to stifle his chuckle.

“Oh nothing.” John smiled. “Moriarty just gave Harry a book identifying the major people in our lives and there is a rather interesting write up on ‘Uncle Mycroft’.”

“I want that book.” Mycroft announced, worried about just what the criminal mastermind may have written about him. “But that isn’t the issue right now. If I am to do this I am going to need his name and date of birth for the paperwork. I assume his first name is Harry…”

It was silent for a moment.

“You did bother to get his full name did you not?” Mycroft said in a condescending voice.

“We were a little more concerned with getting him to the hospital.” John defended.

“Well I can’t do the paperwork without knowing that.”

“Just make something up.” Sherlock huffed. “You can fix it later.”

“Or you could just ask me.” A small voice said causing everyone in the room to turn and see Harry was awake.

“Harry, you shouldn’t be awake yet, you need your rest.” John was instantly at his side checking to make sure he was ok.

“Harry, this is Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft announced through the phone. “I am responsible for the paperwork and need your full name and date of birth to get this done as quickly as possible.”

“My full name is Harry James Potter and I was born July 31, 2000.” Harry announced.

“Bloody hell.” Both Mycroft and Greg said at the same time as Greg looked at Harry in shock before quickly checking for, and finding the scar.

“Inspector Lestrade, can you confirm the presence of the scar?”

“Yup.” Greg nodded dumbly. “I’m looking at it right now.”

“Inspector Lestrade you will lock down that room. No one but the three of you are allowed to go anywhere near that boy. If anyone, and I do mean anyone, tries to get too close to him you have the full permission of the British Government to shoot to kill. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.” Greg dropped his hand to his gun.

“I am on my way.” With that, Mycroft Holmes hung up the phone.

“Greg, what’s going on?” John questioned in confusion.

“You are in on the secret my brother has been keeping.” Sherlock stated in surprise, that had never even occurred to him. It was always something. “… And it involves Harry?”

“Sherlock. Do us all a favour and shut up for once. I would assume your brother is going to be here to explain everything to you soon enough..” Greg said in a strained voice as he tried to work through everything going on in his head.

* * *

“Anthea.” Mycroft called as soon as he put down the phone.

“Sir?” The blond walked into his office.

“We need to get to Surrey.”

“Shall I call a car?”

“No. As much as I might dislike it we shall need to apparate. Harry Potter is in the local hospital being treated for abuse.” Mycroft was quickly going over his paperwork and shutting down his computer. “Have a car meet us at the town council office and we will go from there. We are also going to need to make sure we have control of this situation in its entirety.”

“Yes sir.” She quickly went to her desk to shut everything down while making the arrangements on her phone.

Once Anthea had everything done she went into her bosses office and shut the door. “I’m ready whenever you are sir.”

Mycroft went over to his assistant and took a strong hold of her arm and prepared for pain.

* * *

Apparation was uncomfortable for magical beings, it was agony for someone non-magical to be side-along apparated.

As soon as they landed in the hidden area all government buildings had Anthea went to work. She had to force multiple potions down her bosses throat to help him recover quicker. It was only a stop gap measure and they both knew it. The potions would restore his sugar and electrolyte levels and reduce his pain, but nothing could stop the back lash fully.

The single apparition was going to leave him with an incredibly painful hangover like effect for a minimum of a week. That was why they only did something like this in the most extreme circumstances.

“When will the car be here?” Mycroft said as he forced himself to his feet. His vision kept swaying in and out of focus. He felt like he got hit by a bus, but he forced it back.

“The car shall be out front in 2 minutes and 38 seconds.” Anthea announced.

“Good. I should be ready by then.” Mycroft was pleased to have even just a few moments more to recover. even if only slightly.

As the car pulled up out front Mycroft and Anthea were just walking out the front doors of the building like nothing was out of the normal.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after first getting off the phone with Dr. Watson Mycroft and Anthea were entering the hospital room where his brother was.

“How did you get here so fast?” Sherlock demanded as soon as he saw his brother. He had been sure Mycroft was in his office in London. There was no way he could get from London to Surrey so fast.

“I will be explaining that later. But, first things first. Hello Mr. Potter. I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlocks elder brother.” Mycroft greeted the child in the bed. He quickly summed things up. His brother and the doctor had been right, there was no way the boy could return to those… things that had had his custody and they also couldn’t let Moriarty take him.

“Hello. I’m Harry.”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock growled at his brother. “What is going on? What is this great secret you have? And why does Lestrade of all people know it too?”

Mycroft glanced at harry, unsure just how much the child knew. Harry caught the look and understood.

“I already know. Moriarty told me all about it.”

“Well then…” Mycroft sighed. “Anthea. If you were able to get into the hospitals system I am going to need you to turn off the power. The rest of you, turn off your phone and any electronic device you have on you. Sherlock, don’t even try to argue, if you want to know then you need to comply.”

All the power in the room went off. Anthea tucked her phone in her specially designed purse. It wasn’t off, but her purse would protect it.

“Sir, along with the power I also took the liberty to redact all information about Mr. Potters presence here from the hospitals system. As far as they know this room is empty.”

“Wonderful.” Mycroft was pleased he had managed to find such a competent assistant. “Now, Sherlock. I am going to tell you something I had hoped I was never going to have to explain to you… Magic is real.”

Sherlock gave his brother a critical look. “You are showing none of the indicators of a lie. Normally that wouldn’t mean anything since you had trained yourself out of those habits as a child, but Lestrade also seems to be being honest in his agreement with you. But there is no way magic is possible. It’s a childs fairytail. Science has…”

“Anthea, an aurora if you would.” Mycroft looked to his assistant.

Anthea pulled a slim honey coloured stick from her purse and waved it. The room was suddenly filled with a bright aurora in shimmering colours of blues and greens stretching into reds.

“Magic is real brother mine.” Mycroft reiterated to his brother who had gone perfectly still as his mind tried to reorganize itself. He knew he only had a few minutes before Sherlock was off and running with questions so he decided to just push on. “In the late 1600’s, sick of all the witch hunts, the magical world, which up until that time had lived side by side with our own, created what is now known as the Statute of Secrecy.

Wards, basically invisible barriers, were created and erected all around the world. Their entire society effectively went underground. They have their own cultures, religions, schools, governments, laws and currency. There is a parallel society of approximately 50,000 people living in Great Britain that have the ability to control magic.”

“What does this have to do with Harry?”

Mycroft was slightly shocked that Sherlocks first concern was for the child, although it did give him hope that Sherlock could actually prove to be a competent father. “That is complicated.”

“Tell us.” Both Sherlock and Watson demanded at the same time.

“If I must.” Mycroft sighed. “You have actually noticed them before. You researched a series of what was labeled accidents or natural disasters that occurred over the past few decades up until a few years ago… The reason you could not find the answers is because they were the result of magic.

The rather uninventiveley name Ministry of Magic, the parallel of our own government, actually has a mis-information department which we help along with. When something overtly magical crosses into our world our governments cover it up and put out the false story.

The events that you looked into were the result of a gorilla style insurgency that was occurring in the magical world at the time. A little further background information… There are three main classifications for people in their world; pure-blood, these are people with magical parents and grandparents, half-bloods are those who have at least one non magical parent or grandparent, and what they call muggle-born which are children of non magical parents that are born with magic. No one has as of yet determined why the muggle-born exist, but there typically 10-30 children with magic born to non magical parents each year here in Britain. The most likely reason in my estimation is that they have a magical ancestor and the gene has just reemerged similar to what can happen with red hair. Oddly enough red hair itself is actually twice as common in those of magical heritage.

But I digress… Starting about 30 years ago a man rose to power on the idea that only those of pure blood should be allowed. He, and his followers, saw non-magicals and muggle-born as animals and began to slaughter them. Over the 30 years or so the war raged the magical community lost close to 20% of its population and 4,000 non-magicals were killed. They had a tendency to attack muggle-borns and kill their entire families along with them.

The man who led them gave himself the rather ridiculous moniker of Lord Voldemort, but he was born Tom Riddle. Riddle himself grew up in an extremely religious orphanage in London during the blitz so it’s safe to say he wasn't playing with a full deck from the start. Many stood against him, and many were killed.

In particular there was one family that proved to be a thorn in his side. The Potters. Both young Harry’s parents and grandparents opposed him. His father came from a long line of pure-bloods who could track their lineage back over 1000 years and included notable figures like William Peverell who fought in the Battle of Hastings. His mother however, Lily Evans nee Potter, was herself a muggle-born. She drove him mad not just due to her blood status but due to the fact she was well known to be the brightest of her generation and extremely powerful, everything they said those of her heritage should not be.

On Halloween night 2001 Tom himself attacked what remained of the Potter family. James Potter was found on the stairs where he had fallen trying to block the way. Lily was found in front of Harry’s crib in the nursery. What remained of Tom was also found in front of the crib.

The only one to survive that night was Harry himself. And to this day no one knows how. But, in the magical world Harry is rather famous. They gave him the moniker the Boy-Who-Lived and practically worship him.”

“It’s stupid really.” Harry shook his head slightly in annoyance. “Every boy who is currently alive or man who survived their own birth is technically a boy who lived. More than that since they don’t know how I survived there is no reason to attribute the success to me. More likely Tom made a mistake or my mum did something.”

“In my experience people are very rarely logical. Even less so in the magical world.” Mycroft agreed.

“But how did Moriarty know all this?” John questioned. “Oh please tell me that man doesn’t have magic.”

“He doesn’t.” Harry assured the panicking doctor. “He told me he was born into an old pure-blood family but didn’t have magic himself.”

“Why not?” John questioned.

Greg cleared his throat softly. “It happens. Like a magical child being born to a non-magical family just in reverse. It is far rarer, but it is slowly becoming more common in pure-blood families.”

“But why?” John asked, his inquisitive doctor nature wondering if it was some sort of trick with genetics.

“It is a closed society with limited new blood. Many of the older pure-blood families have been inter marrying for generations. Some have managed to convince themselves that marrying close relatives actually keeps the blood pureer. Basically, inbreeding. Children born without magic are referred to as squibs.” Greg told them.

“That’s what happened to you, isn’t it. You were non-magical so you moved to our side and changed your name.” Sherlock suddenly understood.

“In a manner of speaking.” Greg nodded.

“It wasn't nice, was it?” Harry questioned, his voice filled with understanding. “Moriarty told me when his parents learned he wasn't magical when he was 11 they tried to kill him.”

Greg looked sadly at the child he knew could understand what it was like to have your own blood cause you so much pain. “Yes. They thought I was dead when they threw my body away in a side alley. But I wasn’t. The local pub owner had taken to keeping a watch since I wasn't the first child left there. He helped who he could and arranged a proper burial for those he couldn’t.

I was in the ICU for over a year. When I started to recover I made a new identity for myself and swore I was going to be the opposite of everything my birth family had been.”

“So you became a cop.” John nodded. Whoever they were, his parents surely weren’t cop material if they could harm their own child like that.

“I actually had 2 brothers, one older and one younger. Both were magical. In the war, they sided with the Dark Lord. They’re both in the wizarding prison for torturing 2 aurors, the magical equivalent of cops, past the point of insanity. I like to think they would hate my choices as much as I would hate theirs.” Greg said stoically.

“Back to the whole magic thing.” Sherlock turned to his brothers assistant. “Why turn off the power and our phones before doing anything?”

Anthea looked to her boss who sighed and nodded. “Magic creates a localized electro magnetic pulse. Anything that runs on electricity is instantly fried if it is operating within a 5 foot radius of magic when it is performed. The more magic, or the stronger the spells, the further that radius pushes out. The wards that were created that shield our world keep the pulse from effecting the non-magical world around them in magical areas. But, in a place like this where there are no wards it would make the electronics blow up.

Magicals have managed to adapt the radio in its most simplistic form, but other than that they have none of our technology. Even cars can react badly although a few have managed to enchant them.”

“If Harry is so famous, how did he end up here?” Sherlock was angry that someone would allow this to happen to a child.

“Incompetence.” Mycroft muttered. “Harry’s case was deemed unique by the magical government. Because of that he isn’t treated like a typical orphan. Rather than being watched over by their child welfare department he is instead supposed to be monitored by a member of their government, Albus Dumbledore.

And that man is trouble. He defeated the Dark Lord before Tom and since then the magical people believe he can do no wrong. If he says something, the people believe him. He must not be checking on Harry.”

“That’s not exactly true.” Harry said.

“What do you mean Harry?” John was angry at this Dumbledore man for neglecting his responsibility.

“Moriarty told me he had someone out from Gringotts to check to see if there are any wards and he said there were. One makes it so wizards can’t find the house. Others keep me tied to the area and make it so I can’t go away for more then a week. But the one that made him the angriest was that one ward was a health ward and would let him know every time I was seriously injured, had a broken bone, a concussion, or went without food for 24 hours. He knew what was happening and he did nothing.

That’s another reason Moriarty went after Figg. She’s a squib and was to report things to Dumbledore. He had someone break into her house and found copies of letters he sent to her. She had been telling him about my treatment and in his last letter he just told her to report if anything changed, if not then he didn’t need the detailed lists of what was being done to me. He just needed to know that I was being conditioned the way he wanted me to be, and how it was all for something he called the ‘Greater Good’.”

“Sick bastard.” John couldn’t help but mutter.

“The ‘Greater Good’ is Dumbledores idealized world.” Anthea told them.

“Are those wards going to be an issue in us getting you away from here?” Sherlock questioned.

“No, Moriarty had them changed.” Harry said. “Since they were based on my mums blood he had them switched to my Aunt and extended the range she could go. Whatever he has planned for her will keep her alive and within the range so it won’t let him know I’m not there anymore.”

“Come, we should get out of here.” Mycroft said. “Dr. Watson, if you could remove everything from Harry we will take him back to London with us.”

“He needs medical attention.” John said in shock at the idea of taking Harry out of the hospital.

“Magic Dr. Watson.” Mycroft smiled. “The magical world has its own types of medicine. And while things like transplants and open heart surgery are unknown to them the medicine they do have is extremely advanced. They can heal cuts with a spell and remove bruises with a paste. They even have a potion that will heal bones in an hour, or in more severe cases the bones can be vanished and an entirely new bone can be regrown in an evening, although that is supposed to be uncomfortable.

Anthea has already contacted a magical healer that works for us and she will be at your place this evening. Anthea, do you know what time?”

“Yes sir. Healer Brisbane will be at 221b Baker St. at 7:30.” Anthea had pulled out her phone again.

“Perfect.” Mycroft nodded. “Dr. Watson, if you would… Mr. Potter no longer has need for a heart rate monitor or a saline drip.”

“I’ll go back to the crime scene and check more thoroughly. If there’s anything related to the magical world what should I do?” Greg asked as he got up. Usually he didn’t have to deal with anything related to his former world.

“I will be sending a team of agents to the house. Anything magical is to be identified to them and they will deal with it. It will all go into the evidence reports, as is procedure, but those sections will be classified so only those who know of magic can access them. We will also be ensuring Harry’s name is never mentioned. The last thing we need right now is for anyone to learn of his relation to this case and let the magicals know. It is better if Albus Dumbledore remains in the dark until it is too late for him to do anything.”

Once John had removed everything from Harry Sherlock once again picked him up. Mycroft and Anthea then led them to the waiting car. Thanks to the low level notice-me-not cast by Anthea no one on staff even noticed them. One of the agents Mycroft was having go to the crime scene was also going to make a quick stop at the hospital to alter the memories of the doctors and nurses who dealt with Harry so they wouldn’t think it odd he was missing.

Mycroft knew it was going to be a long ride back to London. Sherlock was going to be asking a million questions once he had him in a confined space. He was sure he just might have to consider jumping out the car door to escape before they got there.


	4. A New Home

Mycroft had been right. They hadn’t even made it half way back to London before he started trying to figure out how he could get out of the car without killing himself. Things were just made worse because Dr. Watson also had plenty of questions and those always lead to followups by the two men. Even Anthea got interrogated although she rarely gave them answers more than a few words. The quietest one in the car had been Harry who had mostly just watched

Sherlock carried Harry through the front door of his new home. Both Mycroft and John were just now getting used to how attentive Sherlock was being to the young child. It was odd, but they had both already silently agreed to encourage it.

“Sherlock Holmes where on gods green earth did you get a child?” Mrs. Hudson asked as soon as she saw a child in her taciturn renters arms.

“Mrs. Hudson, I would like to introduce you to Harry. Harry, this is our land lady Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock announced grandly. “John and I are adopting him.”

“Oh that’s so sweet dear.” Mrs. Hudson smiled as Sherlock quickly took off up the stairs. “You two will be wonderful fathers I’m sure. Though, you might want to set a wedding date.”

“It really isn’t like that.” John said again, he found it slightly worrisome that their land lady really seemed to want the two of them to get together. “Harry was connected to the crime scene we went to this morning Mrs. Hudson. His relatives were abusing him and have run away from the police.”

“Oh the poor dear. He really is far too small.” Mrs. Hudson dabbed gently at her eyes as they filled with tears. Poor little lamb, she was going to need to make sure he got all better. “Why don’t you boys go on up. I’ll fix you all a cup of tea and some dinner. Though don’t you get used to it, I’m your land lady, not your maid.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” John just smiled at the woman before doing as she said.

When John, Mycroft, and Anthea got to the apartment Sherlock was already showing Harry around, not that there was much he would need to see, their flat wasn't exactly huge.

“Sherlock, please stop swanning around and sit still.” Mycroft rubbed at his eyes his head was killing him. “There are still some final details we must go over before I leave you in peace.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed and plopped down in his chair, Harry being transferred from his hip to his lap in the process.

“As Anthea said, Healer Brisbane will be here just after your dinner time. Please do not aggravate her, she is one of the best and I don’t want to have to deal with the extra fees she always applies to those who annoy her. Also, whatever she gives you for Harry is to go to him, I do not want my nephew sick because you decided to experiment with his medicine.

Also, I will be filing the paperwork tomorrow and going through everything on both the non-magical and the magical sides. I will also be arranging a meeting with their bank. Gringotts bank doesn’t just manage money like the Bank of London, they offer all different kinds of services like warding. I will be having them add wards to the property to keep unwanted magic users out. Normally we would need to bring Harry to them but I am sure I will be able to get them to come to us since he is such an important client.” Mycroft said.

“I have your tea dears.” Mrs. Hudson announced as she lay out the service on the table and started to pour. “So what have you gotten yourself into now Sherlock? It isn’t everyday you are willing to ask your brother for help. Although it is becoming more common.”

“You will never believe it Mrs. Hudson, magic is real and Harry’s a wizard.” Sherlock announced causing Mycroft to drop his head into his hands in exasperation.

“Well of course it is dear.” Mrs. Hudson didn’t miss a beat as she looked to Harry to see how he liked his tea.

“You knew too?” Sherlock gasped as she put honey and lemon into Harry’s cup at his request.

“Of course dear. My elder half-brother was a wizard. Got himself blown up in some potions accident when I was 22. Sad to see him go but he really was a bit of a git. Never could let anyone forget he could do things we couldn’t. Although, he had absolutely no ability to focus for longer than 5 minutes which is what got him in the end. Mycroft, I would recommend you get someone to cast a secrecy spell on your brother or all of London will know by the end of the week.” Mrs. Hudson passed Harry his tea.

“Quite right Mrs. Hudson. Anthea, if you would.” Mycroft looked to his assistant.

Anthea placed the tea she had been given back on the table, tucked her phone away and cast. “Full secrecy spells in place sir. They will be able to discuss it amongst themselves and with anyone who knows of magic but not with anyone else. The magic will also force them silent if someone is listening in. I will also note, it doesn’t just silence them, they will also not be able to write it, mime it, or use sign language or any other method to communicate the existence of magic.”

“You can’t do that.” Sherlock announced in shock. “I am perfectly capable of keeping a secret.”

“Can and did brother mine.” Mycroft smiled over his cup of tea. “Back to what I was saying. I have no idea how long it will be before the magical government will notice Harry’s change in location and it would be best if all the particulars were done before hand. The bank can help with that.”

“But why would they come to us if they don’t normally?” John questioned. “Can’t we just go to them?”

“Not a chance. Harry is far to recognizable. Also, I don’t want to let my brother loose in the magical world until he has had a chance to get used to the idea of it first.” Mycroft said. “If you need anything from the magical world you will send Lestrade. He will be able to get in as well as blend in.”

“How is Harry recognizable, no one from their world has seen him since he was a baby, surely they don’t know what he looks like?” John spoke up.

“As I told you, Harry is quite famous in their world. His scar is a dead giveaway. Harry looks just like his father with his mothers eyes. Every male in the Potter family for the past 8 generations has had the same messy black hair. Certain traits pass down family lines and that hair will instantly be recognized as Potter hair. Those in the magical world are as gossipy as housewives in the suburbs.

As to why the bank will send a representative, as I told you the Potter family is an old family. It is also a titled family. While the magical world was granted the right of self governance they are still subjects of the Queen, as such they have nobility. When Harry comes of age he will inherit the title of Lord Potter.

The Potter family is one of the 5 wealthiest families in magical Britain and is in the top 20 in all of Britain. They will send the family account manager if we request it. Although, there will probably be a lot of threats until they have verified who he is.” Mycroft told them.

“Threats, why would they threaten us?” John was confused. Why would anyone use a bank if its employees threatened them?

“Gringotts bank is run by goblins.” Mycroft announced. “Goblins are a fierce warrior race. They are not known for kind or soft natures. Crossing a goblin is a very good way to end up horribly dead. There has never been a successful theft from their bank because of their security, they also dissuade anyone from trying by making examples of any who do try. Theft or fraud in the goblin culture are some of the worst crimes that can be committed. Murder is seen as a lesser crime. Until they know that Harry really is Harry they will see you as potential thieves and there is nothing that will change that except having Harry’s identity verified.”

“Goblins?” Sherlock said. In all of his questions on the way back he had never asked about other creatures.

“Yes Sherlock.” Mycroft sighed. “No, we do not have time for more questions. I will arrange for you to get books about the magical world so you understand just what you are getting into in raising a magical child. As for now, I must go, I have plenty of work to get done now.

Mrs. Hudson, thank you for tea. Also, a healer will be here at 7:30 to check Harry over for anything she can do to speed up his recovery, please try and keep my brother from annoying her too much.

Sherlock, I am also going to warn you now. I don’t care how fascinating you find magic, you will not be experimenting on my nephew. If you so much as even try it I will tell mummy. Also, you are going to call mummy and tell her and father they are grandparents by the end of the week or I will. And you know if I have to we will both be in trouble.”

Sherlock just grumbled and pouted as Mycroft and Anthea left.

“Honestly, you would think that man would have learned I am just your land lady by this point. I have no control over the nonsense you get up to.” Mrs. Hudson grumbled. “I’m going to go finish dinner dears. Harry looks like he could do with a good meal.”

* * *

Dinner had been the best of Harry’s life, even better than when Moriarty stopped by. Mrs. Hudson was a bit overbearing, but it was in a nice way. Harry had never had anyone care if he ate his vegetables or not, it was kind of nice.

As Mycroft and Anthea had said, Healer Brisbane had arrived right at 7:30. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman who was less than pleased with Harry’s condition. She was even less pleased with Sherlocks annoying questions every time she twitched her wand. Finally she had enough.

“What will it cost me to shut you up?” Healer Brisbane questioned in exasperation.

Sherlock thought for a few second until he had an idea. “John was a soldier. He got shot. Our doctors did what they could but even now he still feels pain. I will shut up and just watch if you fix his shoulder.”

John was surprised. He hadn’t thought Sherlock would be willing to trade his silence for helping him.

“Deal.” Healer Brisbane got up and went to the doctor and ran a few quick scans. “This will be easy enough to fix, but it isn’t going to be pleasant. Most medical potions use a witches or wizards own magic to heal them, since Dr. Watson does not have his own magic I will need to use a different technique. If I do this you are going to feel like you took a swan dive off the top of tower bridge and run over multiple times for a minimum of a week, but no more than two. Your shoulder is also going to be mildly numb for a minimum of a month. After that you will be fine.”

John just agreed.

“Sit down, I will do this now just to shut him up.” Once John was sitting down Healer Brisbane started working and explained each thing she did. “First I need to bind your arm into the proper position so the bones are all aligned. Next I vanish your shoulder blade. Now you drink these.”

John just sat in shock for a few seconds. His shoulder blade was gone. Looking down he saw three cups of odd coloured liquid.

“You need to drink all of them and not spit any out. Also, you can’t use pain killers. They counteract the bone regrowth. If you do you will have to start again.” Healer Brisbane gave him a sadistic smile.

John used his unbound hand to pick up the first cup. He didn’t even manage a sip before he was gagging.

“Every last drop.” Healer Brisbane just said.

John let out a sigh and forced himself to chug all three cups in quick succession.

“Very good. The regrowth will start in about 20 minutes.”

“Why doesn’t the magical world share this with the non-magical? I’m sure many would like the chance.” John slurred out.

“You’ll understand soon. And we do share a little, but most of our medicine doesn’t cross over well. Now, hush and let me attend my actual patient.” At that Healer Brisbane returned to Harry’s side to finish setting up the supports.

After looking everything over she had felt they had no choice, Harry needed a new ribcage. The one he had was just too fragile from the malnutrition and old brakes. Simply getting hit with a soft ball could crush his lungs. The only reason it hadn’t happened before that was because his magic was shielding him as much as it could. She was going to have to vanish them and give him some skele-gro. For him however she was going to also give him a sleeping potion so he could sleep through the worst of it.

He was also going to need plenty of nutrient, bone strengthening, nerve regenerating, and eye repair potions. She was also going to need to see him often over the next year to work on repairing the concussion damage.

By the time Healer Brisbane left Harry was fast asleep, John was groaning in agony, Sherlock was fascinated and about to explode for lack of being allowed to ask questions, and Mrs. Hudson was arranging the different potions Harry was going to need.

* * *

Harry woke with the sun the next morning and just relaxed back into his bed, there was no Dursley’s to force him to make breakfast. He was finally free.

His body was still slightly sore, and his chest felt a little numb, but other than that he felt fine. The only issues he was having was that the supports that had been set up to keep his lungs from getting crushed were no longer needed but he couldn’t move enough to get them off him. All he could do was wait for someone to come in and release him.

It was Sherlock that came, as he had expected. They both knew John was in for a rough time while his shoulder blade regrew. It was going to be just the two of them up and about for a while.

Sherlock did go in to check on John but had gotten threatened so he had quickly ducked back out. It would seem Healer Brisbane hadn’t been exaggerating what John was going to feel like. All they could do was let it take its course so Sherlock went to spend the afternoon getting to know Harry better. John did manage to get up for an hour or so around lunch and talked with Harry, but after that Sherlock helped him back to bed.

Harry really was glad he had met a murderer on a park bench.


	5. The Glamour of Paperwork

The morning after Harry Potter was found Mycroft Holmes sat silently at his desk. He felt absolutely horrible and had already drunk 3 espresso’s and it wasn't even 9 yet.

The night before he had Anthea gather everything she could from the magical worlds government about Harry and his situation.What surprised him was that his typically efficient assistant had only left a small stack of about a dozen pieces of parchment on his desk. This was the supposed saviour of the magical world, surely even with Dumbledore stepping in to control things there would have been more.

Deciding to go through everything before addressing his assistant he got to work. The first thing he found was Harry’s birth certificate which was the first surprise. Despite everyone assuming his full name was Harry James Potter it was actually Harkyn James Fleamont Potter. Not a big difference, but names had power and even Mycroft knew that.

After that was the death certificates for Lily and James Potter. Included with them was what should have been a full copy of their wills, but instead each parchment just listed their names and were stamped with red ink saying the will had been sealed by order of the Wizengamot. This surprised Mycroft because the sealing of wills was almost unheard of.

After that was information about Albus Dumbledore being named magical guardian of Harry James Potter by order of the Wizengamot. This made Mycroft smile, sometimes the incompetence of an adversary really was the best weapon you had. They had used the publicly accepted name for the child, but it wasn't his true name and therefor not legally binding.

After that was paperwork on the arrest of Sirius Black. That just confused Mycroft.

“Anthea?”

“Yes sir?”

“Why did you get me the paperwork on Sirius Black?”

“Because sir, Sirius Black was the named godfather of Mr. Potter. After the death of his parents his custody would have gone to him.”

“Ok, but if you were going to give me the legal files, why didn’t you also get the trial transcript, or is it being retrieved. I know the magical records department can be dreadfully slow, but you have managed to get their records in a timely fashion before?”

“There isn’t a transcript sir. According to the legal docket the trial of Sirius Orion Black is still pending. He was never placed in ministry holding cells and was instead transferred directly to Azkaban and has been there ever since. Since he has not legally been convicted of anything he should be the one who still retains custody.”

Mycroft put his head in his hands. “They never gave him a trial?”

“No sir.” Anthea moved quickly and got her boss another espresso.

Mycroft nodded his gratitude for the drink as he took a sip that he would never admit was more of a gulp. “We shall have to arrange some way of addressing it. Maybe call for a post-war legal review. It will be the third anniversary of the end of their war soon so it would be plausible. And it wouldn’t be odd for us to get involved as there were 12 of our people that were killed by the man.”

“I will arrange it sir.” Anthea started to make a note on her ever present phone. “Would you like it to be a total review?”

“Yes, since so many of our people were killed it should be total to ensure justice is done. We also can’t rule out that others were not given trials too. Make sure it is done alphabetically rather than by date, should get the issues around Black settled quicker.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

It was rather easy to push through the adoption paperwork, but it did still take time for it to be stamped and filed. By the end of the week Mycroft had all the formal paperwork declaring that John and Sherlock were the fathers of Harry. Now all they had to do was decide if they wanted to change his name and Mycroft could file that as well.

Dealing with the magical paperwork was a little more difficult, not only because magicals tended to use convoluted systems but because they needed to make sure no one noticed what they were doing. To do that Mycroft had arranged for the Potter account manager to arrive at 221 on Saturday evening, the goblin he often dealt with, bank manager Ragnock, was going to be accompanying him as well. Mycroft was just pleased the bank was open at all times and that they had no concept of weekends as it allowed them to get more done quicker.

Mycroft had on occasion had dealings with the goblin bank, but never extensively. He had been warned that if his claim that they had custody of the Potter Heir proved false he, and everyone with him, would be treated as thieves and would be sentenced to the mines prior to execution.

At first Mycroft had thought of just letting Sherlock and John deal with the goblins on their own, but realized just how much of a disaster that would be. He didn’t want to have to explain to mummy just how his little brother got his head chopped off. She was already in a tizzy making arrangements for them all to come and see her and father so she could meet her grandson properly. She had been adamant she get to see him the day after Sherlock finally built up the courage to tell her but Mycroft had managed to put her off by explaining about the abuse and how he needed time to settle the legalities to ensure he couldn’t be taken away.

Life for the Holmes family had gotten far more interesting with the arrival of young Harry.

* * *

“Mycroft, we do not need you here.” Sherlock was less than pleased to have his brother in his flat again so soon.

“And I told you, you will not be meeting with the goblins without my presence lest you start a war by being annoying.”

“Sherlock, Mycroft has offered to help, accept it.” John groaned from his place by the window. He still felt horrible, but it was getting less. He actually almost felt human and he had finally been able to move his fingers the day before so he thought his shoulder blade was about fully regrown.

Harry smiled from where he sat on the couch as he read a book on a topic called occlumency that Inspector Lestrade had suggested for him. He really liked these people and thought Moriarty had been right, it was the best place for him.

Exactly on time there was a small pop and two goblins stood in the front entry way.

“Manager Ragnock. Manager Ironclaw. May your blades always remain sharp.” Mycroft greeted formally.

“Mr. Holmes. May your money always grow.” Ragnock returned as he was the senior goblin there and he had been the one to have previous dealings with this man. “You claim custody of the Potter Heir, you understand this claim must be verified before this can go any further?”

“Of course.” Mycroft agreed. “What is it you need?”

“We shall need a drop of blood and 3 sickles for the basic identity test.” Ironclaw said as he examined the small child in the room. He certainly looked like a Potter, but he would not take any chances with the estate he managed, it would mean his life if he did.

“You said that was for the basic test, are there others?” Sherlock questiond, stopping Harry from doing anything.

“There are four levels. The basic test cost 3 sickles and gives the name and family line a person hails from. The next level up gives a name, parents names, and family lines. It costs 2 galleons and requires 3 drops of blood. The test above that gives all the previous information as well as any titles in the main line, along with information about any contracts that may be pending. It costs 50 galleons and requires 7 drops of blood. The final test which is the most extensive includes all previous information plus a full magical interference check which will list anything like potions or compulsions in the system, any blocks or mind alterations, as well as a transference test. It costs 1000 galleons and requires 21 drops of blood.” Ragnock explained in the way a salesman would. “We usually recommend a minimum of the second level so one knows their heritage better as family is very important in the magical world.”

“When you say ‘transference’, what exactly does that mean?” Sherlock wondered.

“In the magical world if a vault, estate, or title is left unclaimed for 100 years then it becomes open. In the muggle world all assets are given to the closest living relatives if one dies unless stipulated otherwise in a will, the same is true in the magical world. However, if in the event it is not claimed then the inheritance can pass to any related by blood, whether it is a close connection or not.

A transference test checks back through the past 21 generations of a family to see if there is anything that has not been claimed by another.” Ragnock saw the interest in the muggles eyes and saw a chance to make a decent prophet. 1000 galleons was nothing to turn your nose up at when you had only expected a few sickles.

“And what is the conversion rate of a galleon to a British pound?” John questioned, knowing Sherlock couldn’t be trusted with money.

“The conversion rate is set at a flat 5 to one. 1 galleon is the equivalent of 5 British pounds.” Ragnock told them.

Sherlock got up and went to grab a cookie jar where he kept his money to bribe anyone he might need to. Inside he had a fresh stack of 10,000 pounds along with 1000 in tattered older bills that he used for his homeless network. Going back to the table he counted out 5000 pounds and pushed it forward.

“Harry will take the most in-depth test.”

Ragnock took the money and recounted it again just to be sure before nodding to Ironclaw to pull out the equipment that would be needed to do the full test. Both were pleased with the sale.

Mycroft just watched in hidden bemusement. It would seem between John and Sherlock they were handling things rather well.

Once the potion was fully mixed Harry added his blood and they watched as the potion was distributed amongst the different sheets. Sherlock was fascinated as the potion absorbed into the sheets and words started to write themselves out.

Ironclaw looked at the sheet that held the name and nodded, this child truly was the Potter heir. After showing his superior they handed the parchments over to the boy and his muggle guardians.

Everyone passed the sheets around.

**Name:**

Harkyn James Fleamont Potter

**Father:**

James Fleamont Charlus Potter

**Mother:**

Lilian Marie Potter (nee Evans)

**Godfather:**

Sirius Orion Black

**Godmother:**

Alice Felicitous Longbottom (nee Fawley)

**Title:**

Potter (Heir) - Paternal

Peverell (Heir) - Paternal

Gryffindor (Heir) - Paternal

Coventry (Heir) - Maternal

Slytherin (Heir) - Conquest

Harry was stunned by all that information, and that was only on the first two sheets. When he looked at the sheet that listed all the family lines he was connected too it was immense. According to the goblins he was connected to over 2 dozen different ancient or noble families in the magical world.

John was most interested in the magical influence test.

**Potions:**

System Purged April 22, 2004

Nutrient Potion - Given daily for 6 days

Nerve Healing Potion - Given daily for 6 days

Bone Strengthening Potion -Given daily for 6 days

Eye Repair Potion - Given daily for 6 days

Anti-Concussion Potion - Given daily for 6 days

Skele-Gro - 1 Dose

Sleeping Potion - 1 Dose

**Compulsions:**

System Purged April 24, 2004

**Mind Alterations:**

System Purged April 23, 2004

**Memory Charms:**

17

**Magical Core Block(s):**

20% - Set to dissolve on 4th birthday

15% - Horcrux (Seek immediate assistance)

35% - No removal set

“When it says purged, how were they removed?” John questioned, not liking that his son had had his mind tampered with.

“We can not answer that.” Ragnock informed him.

“I can.” Harry announced once everyone looked to him he explained. “Moriarty noticed that I kept asking the same questions about magic, he said it was like I kept forgetting it was real after a few days. He said that could only happen if someone had done something to my memory but set it to only work on certain topics. He got me a bunch of nasty tasting potions to take that would purge my system. I took one each day for three days. My brain felt like mush for a few days, but then I got better.”

“A full system purge would cleanse him of most forms of tampering.” Ironclaw nodded.

“Memory charms?” John questioned.

“Those too can be removed but that will require a ritual to do so. You will have to schedule a time with our ritual room” Ironclaw said.

“And it says we need to seek immediate assistance for a…Horcrux. What is that?”

Both goblins immediately grabbed for the test. Both then started to growl and everyone assumed they were cursing in their native language.

“I can assume by your reactions it is something very bad.” Mycroft was unnerved, it took a great deal to unsettle a goblin, even he knew that.

“A horcrux is wizards magic most foul. It involves a ritual that tears the casters soul apart with the assistance of an innocents murder amongst other abominations. The soul shard is then transferred into a vessel. That will serve as a soul anchor in the event the original body is destroyed. A new body can be created through a necromantic ritual.

But to destroy ones soul is an abomination to all. It is the most disgusting act one can commit. If in proximity to another human the shard will attempt to possess them. It will need to be removed.”

“And when can we arrange that. Given how serious this is it would probably be best to do it as soon as possible.” Mycroft knew very well just who’s soul it was attached to his new nephew and wanted it gone.

The two goblins spoke swiftly in their native language before Ironclaw spoke. “From the potions he is on we would assume he is unwell.”

“Yes, Harry’s muggle relatives were abusive and withheld food as a method of control.” Sherlock said.

“Then it can not be done now. Heir Potter will need to be in optimum condition if he is to survive the horcruxes removal, it will be extremely hard on him.” Ironclaw said. “It would be best to wait until just prior to his birthday to try anything.”

“Why his birthday?” John asked.

“Because that is when the first core block is set to expire. The increase of power would serve to strengthen the horcrux just as much as it strengthens Heir Potter.”

“And just why does he have core blocks?” Sherlock questioned.

“The first one was placed by the late Lord and Lady Potter, with my assistance, prior to Heir Potter’s first birthday.” Ironclaw said. “Magical children have bursts of what is called accidental magic as their magic develops. Lady Potter had been working on her mastery in charms at the time. Heir Potter had wanted her attention. He accidentally summoned the book she had been reading resulting in a 12 pound textbook landing on top of him in his bassinet.

The block was added to keep Heir Potter from harming himself with his accidental magic. It was set to dissolve on his forth birthday as it was assumed he would have enough emotional control by then to not do anything overly dangerous.

As for the final one added, that is unknown. It was not added through any of the ritual rooms in Gringotts. It is against our policy to add a block stronger than 25% to anyone. We also have a policy of setting a set date for it to be removed as if it is on during any of the magical maturation periods it can actually damage the childs core and stop it from expanding. It will all need to be removed as well, but should wait until at least 2 weeks after Heir Potters birthday. It will give the influx of power a chance to settle before adding more.”

With that settled Harry looked first to the vault list.

**Potter Estate:**

Vault 487: 97,685,494 Galleons, 104,083 Sickles, 195,795 Knuts

Vault 488: (Family Vault): Portraits, Jewels, Antiques, Heirlooms, Family Grimoire

Vault 713: (Trust (Self-Refilling)): 5,000 Galleons, 3,000 Sickles, 3,000 Knuts

Properties - See Associated Folders

Investments - See Associated Folders

**Peverell Estate:**

Vault(s) 285-286: 148,059,924 Galleons, 25,839 Sickles, 373,952 Knuts

Vault 287: (Family Vault): Portraits, Jewels, Antiques, Heirlooms, Family Grimoire, Journals

Properties - See Associated Folders

**Gryffindor Estate:**

Vault(s) 037-041: 197,360,205 Galleons, 15,953 Sickles, 47,000 Knuts

Vault(s) 042-046: (Family Vault): Portraits, Jewels, Antiques, Heirlooms, Family Grimoire, Weapons

Properties - See Associated Folders

**Coventry Estate:**

Vault(s) 112-114: 53,964,936 Galleons, 829,942 Sickles, 52,953 Knuts

Vault(s) 115-118: (Family Vault): Portraits, Jewels, Antiques, Heirlooms, Family Grimoire, Journals

Properties - See Associated Folders

**Slytherin Estate:**

Vault(s) 032-033: 148,057,246 Galleons, 128,293 Sickles, 137,918 Knuts

Vault(s) 034-036: (Family Vault): Portraits, Jewels, Antiques, Heirlooms, Family Grimoire, Plants

Properties - See Associated Folders

From there Harry looked to the transference test and saw that he could claim another 3 Heirships and over 50 vaults with even more valuables and over 10 million more galleons collectively. Some of the vaults only held a couple hundred, but there were many that had a great deal.

“I have all this money?” Harry said in shock as Sherlock examined the pages as John looked like he swallowed his tongue.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Ironclaw said once he managed to get the parchments from the Holmes men and looked at them. “It can get a little complicated with what family allows what, and I only manage your fathers estates which include Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor so I can not speak for the others.

Each family has their own charter and family scripts that determine a great deal about what can and can not be done with the vaults.”

“Can you explain that?” Mycroft questioned.

“There is something we need to address before we can do that.” Ragnock quickly spoke. “We will need to see the paperwork stating you are the legal guardians of Heir Potter. The problem is that all magical children are required to have a magical guardian that we deal with and it can not be any of you as you are muggles. According to the Wizengamot Albus Dumbledore is his magical guardian.”

“I have the paperwork stating that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the adoptive parents of Harkyn Potter.” Mycroft handed over the paperwork.

Ragnock looked it over and magically copied it for Ironclaw to add to the Potter files. “But that still does not help in this matter. We would require his magical guardian here.”

“Harry does not have one.” Mycroft announced and pulled out the paperwork Anthea got for him. “According to the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore is the magical guardian of Harry James Potter. As you just verified, this is not Harry James Potter. Whoever Dumbledore is guardian of, it is not this child.

The Ministry of Magic sealed the Potters wills and failed to assign a magical guardian. The Ministry of Magics Department of Child Welfare further failed to check in on Heir Potter or monitor his home life. As such, it can be seen as the Ministry of Magic abandoning Heir Potter and has therefor lost the right to have a say in his life until he returns to the magical world.

Due to the Ministry of Magics failures the muggle government has stepped in to ensure the care of Heir Potter.”

The goblins looked over the paperwork and agreed the Ministry no longer had a right to control the Potter Heirs life due to their previous negligence.

“Has the Ministry of Magic, or Albus Dumbledore attempted to gain control of Harry’s vaults?” Sherlock questioned. The way the goblins were acting made it seem like they had had others asking questions before.

“Mr. Dumbledore did indeed attempt to use the documentation from the Wizengamot to allow him access to the Potter vaults, but he was stopped. With the deaths of former Lord and Lady Potter their vaults immediately went into lockdown.” Ironclaw said. “But as the wills had been sealed he was denied access. It is specifically stated in the Potter family scripts that only a magical guardian assigned by the parents of a child of House Potter may access the vaults in the event of an underage orphan.

There was a further attempt of the Ministry to create a law that would remove that provision but it was denied by the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot as they did not wish to risk the Ministry interfering with their own vaults or Heirs.

But this does not change anything for you. As muggles you can not do business with us and Heir Potter is still under age so he can’t either. I can check the scripts and charter to see if there are any loop holes that may allow us to offer the medical assistance Heir Potter requires, but if not then you may have to seek the Wizengamots approval to open the wills so we can learn who Heir Potters rightful magical guardian is.”

Suddenly there was a pop over by the door and Mycroft looked up from his phone he had just been texting on.

“You requested my presence sir?” Anthea stood by the front door in her typical formal dress even though it was a weekend for her.

“Please Anthea, join us. Ragnock, Ironclaw, allow me to introduce you to my assistant, Anthea Greengrass.” Mycroft held out a chair for Anthea to sit primly in after she and the goblins exchanged formal greetings.

“Mycroft?” John questioned in confusion.

“Ironclaw, you said only a magical guardian assigned by the parents may do business with the bank on behalf of an underage Heir, correct?” When Ironclaw nodded Mycroft smiled. “John, Sherlock, would you consent to assigning Anthea the position of being Harrys magical guardian?”

Sherlock smiled. “Of course we would. Does that work for you Ironclaw?”

Ragnock and Ironclaw spoke a few words together before they both grinned and Ironclaw answered. “Yes. As Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are Heir Potters legal parents they may assign a magical guardian that we may deal with. You will all just need to sign a few forms to formalize it.”

Ironclaw reached into the case he had brought with him that was magically connected to his filing cabinet and tied to his magical signature so no one else could open it. He laid out the paperwork to assign a magical guardian and a quill.

Sherlock, John, and Anthea all signed where indicated with the provided blood quill. Both Sherlock and John had been startled by the quill. Anthea had to explain about the power of blood to them.

“Now that that is all done, you were going to explain about Harry and his ability to access his vaults.” Mycroft sat back.

Ironclaw smirked, he liked how these humans were able to find loopholes and circumvent the Ministry, no goblin like the Ministry as it was always trying to interfere in bank business. “In 1498 there was a dragon-pox outbreak that was particularly virulentfor adults but left most children unaffected. Lord Hendrick Potter, with the support of the other adult family members changed the family script as a safety condition in case the children survived and the parents did not. It is those clauses that are now active.

The investments will continue as they were before, but the main money vaults will go into lockdown. Only Heir Potter can reopen them once he takes the Lordship when he comes of age at 17. He will have unlimited access to his trust vault, but it only re-fills once a year on his birthday so he will need to learn to budget, which is the point of a trust vault. However, with the permission of his magical guardian he will be able to access the family vault and take out artifacts and heirlooms. The same is true of both the Peverell and Gryffindor vaults although no trust vault was set up with them for Heir Potter.

Also, an allowance for Heir Potter’s care will be paid out by the Potter Estate to ensure he is adequately cared for. I have the paperwork with me and once you fill it out you will have access to 2000 galleons per month for Heir Potters food and clothing. We will be able to exchange it to British pounds and direct deposit it to an account with the Bank of London should you wish as you live in the muggle world.”

“We must also address the gifts sent to Heir Potter.” Ragnock spoke once Ironclaw was finished.

“Gifts?” Harry, Sherlock, John, and Mycroft all asked.

“Heir Potter is credited with ending the last wizarding war. Many families and individuals have since gifted or willed things to Heir Potter. As the vaults of the Potter family were sealed the Ministry of Magic has claimed responsibility of managing these things.” Ragnock growled. “The bank has used the liaison we have with the Ministry to attempt to monitor these gifts to ensure there is no mismanagement, but there is only so much we can do. We can not legally force them to hand over these gifts.

You can wait until Heir Potter is 11 and has returned to the magical world and then demand an accounting, but there is no guarantees with that path that everything will not have already been stolen. We know for instance that there are a further 2 titles that were willed to Heir Potter, since he had no magical guardian to confirm them they did not show up on the blood tests. The Ministry has since assigned 2 of their people to sit in these seats and speak on Heir Potters behalf. We have heard rumours that they plan on allowing a series of adventure books to be written with Heir Potter as the main character. Along side that they have turned the house the Potters were in hiding in in Godric’s Hallow into a tourist attraction. We were able to seal the property as it is a part of the Potter estate, but they still take money from people visiting that area and are not paying anything for the right.

You may possibly be able to reach out to Dowager Longbottom and have her intervene. Lady Alice Longbottom was Heir Potters Godmother, but she currently resides in a long-term care ward at St. Mungo’s after she and her husband were tortured into insanity. Dowager Longbottom is the guardian of their son and she may be able to act in place of her daughter-in-law in protecting Heir Potter’s interests pithing the magical world.”

Mycroft sat back and thought for a moment. “But that runs the risk of Harry’s change in situation being noticed. We would rather avoid that as we do not want them interfering and making a mess again.”

“Sir?” Anthea waited until she got a nod of approval from her boss. “It may be more strategic to wait until the legal review is in process. It does run the risk of things being taken, but no more than previously. Regardless of guilt or innocence, it can be arranged for the information that the Ministry may be, in effect, stealing from Heir Potter to be leaked to an appropriate source. A young up and coming gossip journalist, Rita Skeeter, for instance would love to tear them apart if anything is found. Dowager Longbottom could be pushed in the direction we want then if she is still needed.”

“Legal review?” Ragnock questioned.

“Yes, in the process of going over the paperwork Anthea got me in regards to the Ministry of Magics interactions with Harry we found information about Harry’s godfather. He is in Azkaban, but his trial is still listed as pending, meaning he has not yet been convicted of anything.” Mycroft said.

Ragnock hissed in aggravation. “I may be able to gain you some assistance in that matter then. I manage the accounts for the Black Estate. Lord Black will not respond well if informed his grandson is in Azkaban without trial.”

“We have arranged for a full review to begin starting next week. It may be prudent for you to pass along the information at your convenience.” Mycroft smiled knowing this was going to drive the Ministry of Magic crazy.

“Ragnock, Ironclaw. I was wondering what I should do about the other Heirships I could claim through transference.” Harry said sitting forward. “From everything I’ve heard it seems like a Lord of a family has a great deal of control in the family members lives. So do you think I should take up the position of Heir, it does run the risk of another taking the position of Lord and having control over me.”

Both goblins were surprised to be asked for their advice, most humans saw goblins as beneath them. It was Ragnock that answered.

“You are very wise for one so young, and you are indeed correct. If you were to take the title of Heir and another came forward before you were 17 they would have control over you as a Lord to a house you are a part of. I would recommend claiming the vaults that hold money or valuables, but leave the titles for now. If they are still vacant when you come of age you will be able to claim the Lordship and not run the risk of anyone taking control.”

Harry nodded his understanding and agreed to claim the vaults but not the titles. All that was needed was a signature from Anthea and a drop of Harry’s blood to get it done

“I will have to get in contact with the goblins that manage the Slytherin and Coventry estates to make the arrangements for you to meet with them.” Ironclaw said. “As you do not want to risk anyone knowing about Heir Potters presence here you might prefer to speak with them when you come in for the horcrux removal.

If Ms. Greengrass can come see me in my office next week we can schedule the ritual room and I can arrange for her to be able to use the private floo in the bank so no one sees you come in.”

“I can easily stop by after work next week to make the arrangements.” Anthea said once her boss agreed. She knew she was the magical guardian, but her boss was family and therefore had more of a right to be involved to her mind.

“When Heir Potter comes in then I will arrange for him to receive his Heir Rings. I would not recommend wearing the Heir rings until after the horcrux is removed as they have powerful magics attached and we do not know how the horcrux will react to them.” Ironclaw went over his list of what needed to be done. “You will also need to determine what you wish to do with the living allowance and let me know during our meeting.”

The adult humans all exchanged looks. They would have to discuss it they knew.

When Harry started to yawn they decided it was time to end the meeting. Everyone had plenty to think about and Harry needed to eat before he fell asleep. He was still recovering from the abuse and needed both the sleep and nutrients. John was also ready to get back to his bed with a full stomach.

As Harry and John sat down at the kitchen table eating their dinner Sherlock was left in the sitting area.

“Anthea, what is it that you are thinking about?” Mycroft knew his assistant well enough to recognize the look.

“I was thinking that it might be smart to keep some of the living allowance in galleons and use it to arrange for some wizarding space to be added to the flat.”

“Wizarding space?” Sherlock asked.

“It is using runes to expand a space. With expansion runes a simple closet can be the size of this entire room. A bedroom can become as big as a cricket stadium. I know from the layout of the building there is still unused areas upstairs that could be made into a place for Mr. Potter to keep anything magical.

On the vaults list it said many of the vaults contained portraits. In the magical world portraits are often enchanted to be able to speak. A copy of a persons memories and personality can be made while they are alive and added to the painting so they can speak to you. For all we know there may be a portrait of his parents in the Potter vault that we can collect. But you can’t leave moving and talking paintings out where just anyone can find them.”

Sherlock just couldn’t wrap his mind around that. What about the laws of conservation of mass?

Seeing Sherlock was stuck in a loop Mycroft went over to the table. “Harry, there is one thing I wanted to talk to you about. I was wondering if you wanted to change your name or anything?”

“Yes please.” Harry gave a sleepy smile. “When I was talking with Moriarty he said that Harry Potter-Watson-Holmes sounded best. Then I could just go by Harkyn Watson-Holmes for things like school so no one would make the connection. He said it would be like being in protective custody.”

“That will work.” Mycroft smiled. He hadn’t missed the moment of joy John had when Harry said he wanted to take his name.

“So I guess you’re just going to leave your brother over there broken.” John glanced at where Sherlock was still staring off into space.

“We were discussing using space expansion on the rest of the upstairs to give Harry extra room for his magical things and Sherlock couldn’t wrap his mind around a room being the same size on the outside but bigger on the inside.” Mycroft sighed.

“Like the tardis?” John said in shock.

Mycroft sighed dejectedly. “Yes Dr. Watson, like the tardis.”

After that Mycroft and Anthea left and John and Harry went to bed, leaving Sherlock where he was because John knew better than to go near Sherlock while he was in one of those loops.


End file.
